Slappy in Dreamland Read online

  Willow climbed down and set her paint can on the floor. She had a strange grin on her face.

  “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

  Her grin grew wider. “I just did something funny,” she said. She glanced all around, as if making sure no one could hear. But we were the only ones in the gym.

  “Uh-oh,” I murmured. “I don’t think I want to know.”

  Willow leaned close to me. “Remember that ruler Mr. Trevino is always waving at us? The one he points at us with when he’s unhappy about something?”

  “Yes. I know the ruler,” I said.

  Mr. Trevino is the Art teacher, and he’s always unhappy about something. And he swings that ruler and slaps his desk with it and threatens us with it all the time.

  Willow lowered her voice to a whisper. “Well, just before I came here, I slopped blue paint all over the ruler and put it back in Trevino’s drawer.” She giggled. “When he reaches for it, he’ll get blue paint smeared all over his hand.”

  I gasped. “But, Willow—he’ll see us here with these paint cans. He’ll know we had to be the ones who did it.”

  She shook her head. “No way. He went home for the day. He won’t see us. And I put enough paint on the ruler so it will still be wet and sticky tomorrow morning.” She laughed again at her own joke.

  “I guess it’s a little funny,” I said.

  Willow gave me a push toward the ladder. “Get up there and start the sky,” she said.

  “I told you, I don’t like ladders,” I said.

  She shoved a paint can with a brush inside it into my hand. “This will be good for you, Richard. You can get over your fear. It’s easy. Get up there.” She gave me another push.

  My heart started to pound as I climbed. The paint can swung in my right hand as I used my left hand to grip the ladder’s side.

  “You’re doing great!” Willow called up to me. “See? It isn’t scary at all.”

  I dipped the wide brush into the paint and raised it to the top of our mural. That’s when I heard footsteps on the gym floor behind us.

  I whipped my head around and saw Mr. Trevino striding toward us, taking long, heavy steps. He had one hand raised, and it had a thick blue stripe across the palm.

  My legs started to collapse, and I nearly toppled off the ladder.

  Trevino peered up at me. His face was red and angry. “Richard!” he boomed, his voice ringing off the gym walls. “I see you have blue paint up there!”

  “I … uh …” I couldn’t get any words out.

  Trevino waved his blue hand in front of him. “Come down, Richard,” he said. “We need to have a talk.”

  I slowly made my way down the ladder on shaky Jell-O legs.

  Willow pressed her hands at her waist and stared at me. “Richard—what did you do?” she cried. She could barely keep a straight face.

  I wanted to dump the can of blue paint on her head. But, of course, I would never do anything like that.

  “We can talk about this privately in the art room,” Trevino said.

  I set the blue paint can down and followed Mr. Trevino down the hall to my doom.

  * * *

  At dinner that night, Mom asked me how my day was. And I couldn’t think of any good way to answer. “Willow and I worked on our mural,” I said finally.

  “Nice,” Mom said.

  No, it wasn’t nice!

  Thanks to Willow’s little joke, Mr. Trevino said I had to come in after school for two weeks and clean the art room. It was totally unfair. But no way could I rat on Willow.

  Willow was coming to stay with us the next night, and I desperately wanted to think up a way to pay her back.

  I was still thinking about it when I went to bed.

  And later … a short while later … I had my first terrifying dream.

  I brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas. I shudder every time I put these pajamas on. They are Puppy Pal pajamas, and I know that no one over the age of two would want to be caught dead in them. But Grandma Rose gave them to me for Christmas, and Mom and Dad made me keep them.

  I carried Slappy to my bed and stretched him out at the foot. That’s where he sleeps every night. That’s not too weird, right? It made me feel calm knowing he was down there.

  As I climbed into bed, I once again pictured Mom’s startled expression as she stared at the monitor in her lab office. I pictured the jagged yellow lines rolling across the screen. And heard Mom’s cries of alarm. “Impossible!” she shouted. “That’s impossible!”

  A smile crossed my face as I pulled the covers up to my chin. Mom’s computer must have had some kind of bug. Slappy couldn’t really have brain waves. But it sure gave Mom a shock.

  A thought flashed into my mind. Could I think up a way to use Slappy to scare Willow?

  I felt a cool breeze float against my face. The windows in my room are old, and the wind outside makes them rattle. Even when they are closed and locked, they let in a lot of cold air.

  I was still thinking about Willow and Mr. Trevino’s blue hand and all the trouble Willow’s little joke got me into when I drifted off to sleep.

  It was a restless sleep. I kept opening my eyes, half-awake, and rolling over from one side to the other. Finally, a deep darkness washed over me and I dropped into a comfortable snooze.

  I don’t know how long I slept. But I was jerked awake when I felt my covers tugged away. I gasped in the sudden cold air and sat straight up.

  “Who—?” My voice was clogged from sleep.

  My heart pounding, I squinted into the darkness—and saw two glowing eyes. A face. Up against mine.

  Slappy.

  “Huh?” I gasped again and felt a chill of fear run down my body.

  The dummy stood on the floor beside the bed. He stood up straight, gripping my blankets in both wooden hands.

  His grin shimmered darkly in the dim light from the window. His eyes stared, unblinking, into mine.

  I tried to grab my covers back, but his grip was too tight. “Hey—” I choked out. I still couldn’t speak.

  “Richard!” he rasped my name in a hoarse voice. “Time to wake up, Richard.”

  “Uh … whoa,” I murmured. “You talk?”

  He uttered a shrill giggle. “I walk. I talk. I stalk.”

  “No. No way!” I cried. “You’re a dummy. A wooden dummy. You can’t—”

  “Don’t call me dummy, Dummy!” he shrieked. He shook the blankets angrily.

  “Stop!” I cried. “I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.”

  “Snap out of it, dreamer,” Slappy barked. “You have work to do.”

  “Work?” I uttered. “What kind of work?”

  He giggled again. “Richard, your work is whatever I say!”

  “I … I don’t understand,” I stammered. The cold air from the window seemed to swirl around me, and I shivered.

  “You serve me now,” Slappy rasped. “You will do everything I tell you.”

  “No. No way—” I said again.

  “My servant for life!” Slappy screamed into my face.

  I tried to pull away. But he dropped the blankets and grabbed my wrist. “Do I have to persuade you?” he cried.

  “You can’t persuade me,” I said. “I’m not going to be your servant. Let go of me.” My voice trembled, revealing my fear.

  “We’ll sssseee,” he hissed.

  Then he lowered his head, opened his mouth wide—and sank his wooden jaws into my arm.

  “Owwwww.” I let out a howl of pain. “Let go! Let go of me!”

  I tugged and squirmed and struggled to pull free. But he held on tight. His head swung up and down with my frantic movements. And his hard mouth sank deeper into my skin, sending wave after wave of pain shooting through my arm and over my whole body.

  “Let go! Let go of me! Please—stop! Let gooooo!”

  I woke up screaming.

  I was sitting straight up in bed. I struggled to catch my breath. I shivered under a cold sweat that drenched my forehead.

  As I blinked myself awake, the room came into focus. Red morning sunlight washed in from the window.

  My covers were still on the bed. And Slappy … Slappy still lay at the foot of the bed where I had left him.

  “A dream,” I murmured to myself. “All a frightening dream.” But it had seemed so real.

  I turned and lowered my feet to the floor. I started to stand up, then stopped.

  My arm. My arm ached.

  I rolled up my pajama sleeve and examined it. Why was my arm red and sore?

  Was it just from sleeping on it?

  Mom picked Willow and me up after school that day. She tossed Willow’s suitcase into the cargo area of our SUV. Willow and I climbed into the back seat.

  Mom acted hurt. “No one wants to sit up front with me?”

  “We want you to be our chauffeur,” Willow said.

  “Ooh. Big word,” I said. “Are you trying to impress us?”

  Willow pulled a wad of pink chewing gum from her mouth and stuck it on my nose.

  I groaned. “Give me a break. Can you stop being so childish?”

  “I’m the childish one?” Willow exclaimed. “I’ve seen you in your Puppy Pal pajamas!”

  I could feel my face growing hot. Why did I always blush so easily?

  “Richard,” Mom called from the front seat, “why did you have to stay after school and clean the art room?”

  “Uh … I’m doing it for extra credit,” I said. That was pretty quick thinking for me. I usually just stammer and stutter and can’t think of a good lie.

  “Mr. Trevino likes Richard,” Willow told my mom. “He thinks Richard has real painting talent.” She grinned at me.

  Not funny.

  I punched her arm. Then she punched my arm
.

  “Ow!” I cried out in pain, grabbing my arm. “Careful. My arm is sore.”

  Mom turned the car onto our block. “Sore? Sore from what?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  At home, Willow carried her suitcase to her room. “How long is she staying?” I asked my mom.

  Mom frowned at me. “Be nice to her, Richard. Stop teasing her all the time.”

  “Huh? Me?”

  “It must be hard on her to have her parents go away so often,” Mom said.

  No. It’s hard on ME!

  Willow came back and spotted my jigsaw puzzle on the table in the den. I followed her over to the table. “Hey, it’s all black and white,” she said.

  “That’s because it’s panda bears,” I said.

  She squinted at it. “What do you do when it’s finished? Mess it up and start again?” She spread a hand over it to mess it up.

  I grabbed her arm away. “Stop!”

  She laughed. “I wasn’t really going to do it,” she said.

  “Sit down,” I said. “You can help me. It’s almost done. Help me finish it.”

  We pulled up chairs and began to work on the puzzle. There were only twelve or thirteen pieces left to put in.

  Willow found a piece of a panda’s eye and slid it into place. “It’s so hard without any other colors,” she said.

  “They make puzzles that are all one color that are even harder,” I said. “No picture or anything.”

  “Why would anyone do one of those?” Willow asked.

  I shrugged. “Beats me.”

  I jumped up from the chair and cheered when I fit the last piece in. “Yaaaay. Done! Victory!” I cried.

  Willow didn’t celebrate with me. She pointed to the puzzle.

  I glanced down and saw three holes in the puzzle. “Three pieces missing,” I said. “Where are they?”

  I searched the tabletop. Then I scooted my chair back and examined the carpet all around. No sign of them.

  I groaned. “I don’t believe it. I spent a week on this stupid puzzle, and I can’t finish it because there are three pieces missing.”

  Willow tsk-tsked.

  I banged both fists on the table. “It isn’t fair. How could they sell me a puzzle with pieces missing?”

  Willow’s eyes flashed. A grin spread over her face. She opened her fist—and there were the three missing pieces.

  “You—you—” I stammered.

  “I just wanted to see what you would do,” she said.

  I reached both hands up to strangle her. But, of course, I didn’t.

  Dad walked into the room and set down his briefcase. “Hey, Willow. How’s it going?” he said.

  “Good. I’m just helping Richard with his jigsaw puzzle,” she said.

  Helping me?

  “Well, it’s dinnertime,” Dad said. “Come sit down and tell us all your news.”

  We took our seats at the table. A platter of spaghetti and meatballs and a big salad bowl stood in the center. Willow sat across from me.

  “You’re sitting in Slappy’s seat,” I told her.

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Do you really bring that dummy to the table?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Slappy likes to watch us eat.”

  Dad scooped a tall pile of spaghetti onto his plate. “We don’t approve,” he told Willow. “But we’ve given up. Richard brings that dummy everywhere.”

  “What’s the big deal?” I snapped.

  “Don’t sound so angry,” Mom said. “We’re not making fun of you.”

  “Richard has been in a bad mood all day,” Willow said, passing the salad bowl to Mom.

  Mom peered at me. “How come, Richard?”

  “Just tired, I think,” I answered. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I had a terrible nightmare.”

  “Can you share it?” Willow asked. “I love terrible nightmares. When they’re someone else’s!”

  “Did you dream about my sleep lab?” Mom asked. “Is that what upset you?”

  “Mom took me to her lab,” I explained to Willow. “And these people were all hooked up to electrodes and sleeping on cots.”

  “Cool,” Willow said. “Was it like a horror movie?”

  “No,” I said. “It wasn’t scary at all. Mom was studying how they sleep to help them.”

  “So what was your nightmare about?” Dad asked, taking more spaghetti.

  “Slappy,” I said.

  “No way,” Mom said. “Now you’re dreaming about him?”

  “It was so real,” I said. I felt a shiver roll down my back just thinking about it. “Slappy came to life—and he could talk. He pulled off my covers, and he said I had to be his servant and do whatever he told me for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s seriously creepy,” Willow murmured. She had her fork in the air. She had stopped eating to listen.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Creepy,” I said. “In the dream, I was terrified. But I told Slappy I wouldn’t be his servant. And then … he bit me. I mean really hard. Sank his teeth into my arm. I screamed and screamed, and he wouldn’t let go. It really hurt.”

  “And then what?” Willow asked.

  “Then I woke up,” I said. “I was covered in sweat and shaking all over. I looked down at the bottom of my bed, and Slappy was lying there, right where I left him. So I knew it was a dream. But … but …” My voice trailed off.

  “But what?” Dad demanded.

  “My arm was red and sore,” I said. I rolled up my shirtsleeve. “Look. It’s still red and sore.”

  They all squinted at the bruise on my arm. “Weird,” Mom muttered.

  “Know what I think?” Willow said. “I think when you go to bed you should put that dummy in the closet.”

  “He always sleeps at the bottom of my bed,” I said. “It was just a nightmare, Willow. No big deal.”

  “That’s a good attitude,” Dad said. “No big deal at all.”

  We all dug into our spaghetti and ate in silence for a while.

  That night, I had another terrifying nightmare.

  In the dream, I was wandering through an endless white light. The light was so bright, I had to shield my eyes with one hand.

  Slowly, the brightness faded, and I saw long curtains on both sides of me. There were narrow beds between the curtains. I realized I was at my mom’s sleep lab.

  I heard people snoring and machines beeping all around. I couldn’t see any of the patients. They all seemed to be totally hidden under white bedsheets.

  I began to feel frightened. Where was my mom?

  I strode through the hall, searching for her. I saw only curtains and beds … curtains and beds. No people. The beeping of the machines grew louder.

  “Mom?” I called to her in a hoarse, troubled voice. “Mom?”

  The curtains began to swirl around me, circling me. I felt myself being surrounded, pulled inside them.

  And suddenly, the scene changed. I was in bed. On my back. Long white curtains closed me in. The bedsheet was pulled to my chin.

  The sheet felt heavy. Like a weight pressing down on me. I tried to raise my arms, and I couldn’t!

  I started to struggle. I knew I had to get out of that bed. I squirmed one way, then the other. I tried to kick my legs. But I couldn’t free myself.

  Shaking in fear, I saw a flash of light before my eyes. My mom appeared beside the bed. She was in her white lab uniform. She gazed down at me.

  “Mom—I’m so glad to see you!” I cried. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. Can you get me out of this bed?”

  She didn’t answer. She stared at me a moment longer. Then she moved to the computer equipment on the other side of the bed and began pulling out wires.

  “Mom? Are you going to help me?” My voice came out all shaky with fear.

  Again, she didn’t answer. She tugged at the wires. Then she raised an electrode over me and pressed it onto my forehead.

  “Stop!” I cried. “Why are you doing this?”

  She pressed another electrode onto my left cheek.

  “Mom—I’m not a patient!” I cried, feeling the panic roll over me. “Stop! I don’t want to do this. Let me up!”

  She didn’t answer. She tugged down the bedsheet and attached an electrode to my throat. Then she pressed one onto my left shoulder.

  “Mom—”

  She turned her back to me and fiddled with the monitor controls. I watched her pull out more electrodes.

  “Mom, please—”

  She turned around quickly. And as she spun toward me, I saw that it wasn’t my mom anymore. It was Slappy!